


Defining the Strength of Potions

by CarmillaCarmine



Series: Ballads of a Witcher and a Bard [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Black-Eyed Geralt, Blood As Lube, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Forest Sex, Geralt Whump Week (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia's Black Eyes, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Smut, Spitroasting, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Travel, Voyeurism, Winter At Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmillaCarmine/pseuds/CarmillaCarmine
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are on their way to Kaer Morhen for the winter.Written for Geralt Whump week for prompts: Potions, Cursed, Monster, and Kaer Morhen that will appear throughout the fic.I tagged various relationships, but they're not full-blown ones, I hope that doesn't interfere with the reading experience.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Series: Ballads of a Witcher and a Bard [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710100
Comments: 63
Kudos: 258





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In my fics I take the Witcher characters from the show, the books and the games, and put them in a blender (picking the characteristics I like and using those). So Geralt is more talkative and more emotionally open and Jaskier is well, a bi-disaster XD
> 
> I’m sorry in advance that I’m posting stand-alone fics from ["Defining the Shape of a Pear"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459572/chapters/56237293)  
> -verse out of order, but it’s how my brain works. There will be more fics before and after this one to complete the Defining the Shape timeline. All of the shorter ones can be read as stand-alone so it doesn’t really matter that much, as they can be read separately and out of order. All you need to know is that Jaskier and Geralt are in an established relationship and fuck a lot XD

It’s been months since their fateful sexual beginnings together at Calanthe’s castle. Their friendship had taken a sharp turn after Geralt had called the Law of Surprise. In consequence, he had been incredibly furious at both himself and the destiny he’d claimed he didn’t believe in. Jaskier had come to the rescue; trying to calm Geralt down, he had offered his body as a stress-relief tool. The lust-filled night had led them to exploring each other sexually, which in turn had brought upon them the acceptance of the fact that they shouldn’t be hiding their attraction and affection to one another any longer. 

They’ve been travelling a lot since then; camping in woods, or staying at inns. Reprising their previous roles had been easy, so Geralt was slaying monsters, and Jaskier was singing about it. They had been a tight-knit team before, but after their friendship had turned into a relationship, they were inseparable. 

Winter was rearing its ugly head, and after exploring their options, Geralt finally offered to take Jaskier to Kaer Morhen for the duration of the coldest season. The topic of the mysterious keep where Geralt grew up made Jaskier feel both excited and wary at once. Judging by the way Geralt avoided talking about his childhood, Jaskier assumed that he hated the School of the Wolf, but he decided to ask about it nonetheless. 

To his surprise, Geralt spoke warmly of a man named Vesemir, whom he clearly thought of as a father figure, and two witchers whom he referred to as his brother Eskel and “that prick” Lambert. Jaskier was hungry to hear more, and Geralt agreed to keep telling him stories about his time at Kaer Morhen after they mapped their route towards it. Every evening by the campfire, Jaskier listened, completely mesmerised at Geralt’s storytelling. Sure, there were hardly any details, but for the first time Jaskier didn’t complain, as he had the privilege to listen to Geralt speak more than a few sentences. He had hoped that their closeness might lead to Geralt being more open with him, but the reality was exceeding his wildest expectations. 

On the nights when Geralt couldn’t sleep, Jaskier would sing and softly pluck his lute until either or both of them fell asleep. Other nights, Jaskier would drift off with his head on Geralt’s lap, listening to the low rumble of the witcher’s voice as he told yet another childhood story.

The constant travel and little rest was making Jaskier’s butt stiff, and he hoped he would have a chance to sleep in a decent bed soon. The previous opportunity for a comfortable rest had been tragically lost, and maybe it had been a teensy weensy bit his fault. They had been asked to kill a monster of some sort for the village—well, Geralt had been asked to do it, but the two were a bargain deal now. When they had been drinking ale before the night’s rest, not doing harm to anyone, some horse-faced nobody had dared to call Geralt a freak, a mutant, and several other names before Jaskier’s boot had hit him in the face. There was no foot in the boot, as Jaskeir refused to forego his seat in the crowded tavern. But then...

_ The brave bard, protecting the good name of his friend and lover, delivered a hard blow to the drunkard’s kisser, then another under his chin, thus rendering him unconscious. The drunkard’s two friends attacked next, but the bard was ready— _

“What are you scribbling there?” Geralt asked as he mounted his horse after relieving himself in the bushes.

“It’s nothing.” Jaskier closed his notes and stashed the book titled  _ 50 Years of Poetry _ in the saddle bag. 

“Let’s go then, so we can find a decent place to camp before dawn.”

They had travelled on a beaten track, along a greyish-white wall of mountains with snow-covered summits. No wonder the legends claimed that the trail to Kaer Morhen, dubbed by young witchers “The Killer”, was hard to find, as the gap in a granite wall through which they passed would be impossible to find if not for Geralt’s detailed knowledge of the way. Now they were in the wilderness again, and the days of travel with not much happening around were taking a toll on his poetic output.

Jaskier held on to his horse’s reins and was riding next to his companion when his stomach rumbled. It was loud enough for Geralt to hear, as he looked sharply in Jaskier’s direction.

“We’re stopping soon,” Geralt announced abruptly. 

“In the woods again?” Jaskier whined despite his best efforts. “I miss civilization. We’ve travelled so long, so maybe we can stop at the next city? A small town tavern won’t make us enough coin for a decent meal.”

“There are no cities, and no more towns on our way to the keep now. We’re not far. You’ll survive.” Geralt huffed with exasperation, but Jaskier could hear the concern in his voice.

“Survival doesn’t make for great ballad material,” Jaskier sighed, but one glance at Geralt’s face told him the comment had not been appreciated. “Fine.” He knew the need to stop was for his benefit, not Geralt’s, so he appreciated that and tried to rein in his need to complain.

The next time he would sing for anyone other than Geralt would be in the keep. He wondered what the other witchers would think of his singing, and let his mind conjure up a vision of him performing at Kaer Morhen. There would be food and wine aplenty, and the witchers would be clapping joyfully, completely in love with his singing.

Roach neighed when Geralt pulled her to an abrupt stop, making Jaskier stop in their tracks.

“What happened?” Jaskier asked, seeing the agitated horse as well as her rider.

“Stay put,” Geralt ordered, dismounting swiftly.

Squatting by the road, he touched the forest floor, then sniffed his fingertips. Jaskier could tell something was wrong, but tried to wait patiently for the explanation. Geralt stood up, looked around and marched several steps into the woods, crushing the dry sticks with a cracking noise. He emerged back quickly with a sour expression on his face.

“What is it?” Jaskier finally asked, rubbing the side of Pegasus's neck to his shoulder to calm the horse down. 

“Dead bodies,” Geralt explained succinctly. 

“Okay… killed by animals or by people?” Jaskier inquired, dread slowly filling his gut.

“Torn to pieces and toyed with. It’s not the work of a person. There's a griffin around.” Geralt sniffed the air as if he were a dog. “He must have a nest on one of the mountain’s summits.”

“That’s far from where we are,” Jaskier motioned at the mountains in the distance. “So we’re safe?” he asked with hope in his tone.

“No, we’re not. The bodies are fresh. Griffins have an excellent sense of smell, so this one probably already knows we’re here,” Geralt ground out, killing all hope of a good night's sleep. 

He looked to his left and right, then nodded at a small clearing. “Let’s make a camp.”

“Oooh hooo, really? So there’s a murderous bird around and we’ll just stay here?” Jaskier’s voice rose an octave at the ridiculous decision. 

“No,” Geralt replied calmly and Jaskier felt his muscles relax before he tensed again as Geralt continued. “You stay. I’ll go to find it and kill it.” Geralt patted his silver sword, stowed in Roach’s saddle. 

“Right, of course. But can’t we just keep going?” he tried one more time.

“No. If I don’t kill it now, it may kill more people in the villages we passed through on our way here. If not, it can attack us as we move farther, and I’d rather be ready than be attacked when I’m asleep.” He looked pointedly at Jaskier, before his gaze softened and the Geralt that held Jaskier gently at night emerged. “Besides, this isn’t such a bad place to make camp.”

Jaskier couldn’t deny the logic in that, even if it pained him to see Geralt chasing trouble again with no prospect of being paid for it. He clicked his tongue to get Pegasus going towards the clearing and then dismounted to unstrap his saddle bags.

They made a makeshift bed from leaves and Jaskier proceeded to gather sticks for a campfire. Looking at the meager food supplies they had left, Jaskier hoped they were really close to Kaer Morhen. Thankfully, while Jaskier was organizing the campfire in an artistic chaos of sticks that looked like Stregobor’s hat, Geralt managed to hunt down, kill, and prepare a rabbit. 

“Did Stregobor wear a hat?” Jaskier asked, admiring his temporary work of art.

“No…” Geralt gave him a confused look as he kindled the perfect campfire with a flick of his wrist, dropping the subject. There was not a lot Jaskier could ask about for Geralt to be truly astonished. 

The rabbit was extraordinary, taking into account they had only salt and pepper with them. Geralt was a better cook that he looked; Jaskier had learned that a long time ago. 

“I'll stay away, probably for half the night,” Geralt said, adjusting straps on his armour. “I don't want you near me when I'm still on a potion, as we discussed, remember?” 

“Yes, yes, I remember. You never go back to people before the effects of the potion wear off, because you're not sure what you could do, and I might be in danger,” Jaskier recited in the bored tone of a child taught a poem he couldn’t grasp the meaning of. 

“Don't mock me, this is serious,” Geralt growled, levelling a stern look on Jaskier. With huff, he unsheathed his sword, inspected it thoroughly, and adjusted his grip on the hilt. 

Jaskier was sure Geralt wouldn't hurt him, not like that, not even while on some magical witcher potion. Nevertheless, he nodded in agreement.

“I’ll be here if you change your mind. It’s cold without you,” Jaskier whined, cocooning himself in the blanket he usually shared with Geralt. 

“Dream of something nice,” Geralt said, squatting to face Jaskier. 

“Do you think your brothers will like me?”

Geralt’s expression softened for a moment.

“I’m sure they will. Now sleep, and don’t make noise.” 

Gloved hands cupped Jaskier’s face and he closed his eyes to drink in the forehead kiss that always felt like a goodbye before Geralt went on a hunt. 

Tired from weeks on the road, Jaskier pulled the blanket to his chin, and let the darkness of sleep swallow him.

_ Jaskier turned his head to the side to see Geralt sitting on a red velvet armchair in the corner of the room. His one hand was casually draped over the armrest, the other was holding a glass of red wine. He was shirtless, and barefoot, wearing only tight breeches, even tighter in his groin area. The wicked smile on his face suggested he was thoroughly enjoying the view before him.  _

_ There were ropes holding Jaskier’s torso up, as he was bent at a ninety-degree angle, with legs spread wide and cuffed to a bar. He felt the jute biting into his skin and he knew Geralt would kiss the swirling rope marks later.  _

_ He felt a light slap on his cheek, and he looked straight ahead to see Eskel’s powerful forearm muscles flex as he tugged on his own cock. Jaskier’s eyes focused on the round head, glistening and ready. He opened his mouth in invitation and the thick cock lay heavy on his tongue a moment later. Planning to take his time, he sucked gently, swirling his tongue, listening to Eskel’s low grunts of approval.  _

_ Jaskier moaned himself, long and loud around Eskel’s cock, when he felt Lambert’s two thick fingers twist deep inside his hole. He couldn’t see Lambert, but felt him pour more oil all over his entrance. One of his hands was teasing Jaskier, while the other massaged his bum, now slick with the oil. A hard smack split the air, sending heat of pain-turned-pleasure through Jaskier’s arse cheek. Whimpering at the back of his throat, needing more, Jaskier sucked harder and wiggled his butt just enough to send the message.  _

_ “That's a good boy, Jaskier,” Lambert crooned from behind. “You're such a good little slut.” He twisted his fingers, crooking them to massage Jaskier’s prostate, making Jaskier’s cock twitch with need as more heat pooled in his abdomen. “Do you want my cock inside you?”  _

_ Jaskier nodded, moaned and thrust back on Lambert's fingers as a sign of agreement. _

_ “Good. So very, very good.” Another slap landed on his opposite cheek, eliciting a high-pitched sound from him.  _

_ Lambert’s fingers retreated and his cock breached Jaskier’s entrance a moment after, sliding slowly, surrounded by slick oil. Jaskier keened around Eskel’s cock, saliva pouring as he sucked and his eyes closed from the bliss of Lambert’s careful thrusts. When he finally seated himself fully in Jaskier, he slid almost all the way out to slam back in with such force, the meeting of their bodies made a loud slapping sound. Jaskier felt full, his body drinking in the sensations of the hands and cocks of both witchers in and on him. He felt cherished and safe, knowing it was all to Geralt’s benefit.  _

_ “Careful, you prick, or he'll bite my cock off,” Eskel barked towards Lambert, making Jaskier smile and suck harder, hollowing his cheeks. _

_ “Nah, he's a good boy.” Lambert tugged on Jaskier's hair, forcing his head up, making Eskel’s cock slip out. Lambert slapped Jaskier’s face. Once. Twice. It wasn't hard but it got the blood flowing. “You wouldn't bite your witcher’s brothers, would you?” _

_ “Only,” Jaskier squeaked, and had to clear his throat, raw from Eskel’s cock thrusting deep inside it. “Only if it was warranted or if Geralt told me to.” _

_ “Hahaha!” Lambert bellowed with joy. “Where did you find him, Geralt? Can we have him every winter?” _

_ Jaskier tried to crane his neck to see Geralt, and Lambert tugged his hair to allow it. The wine glass was on the floor now, next to Geralt’s foot, and his right hand wasn’t empty anymore. It held his gorgeous cock, stroking it languidly, the thumb spreading the precome Jaskier yearned to taste on his tongue.  _

_ “Be careful,” Geralt warned with a smirk. “He didn't say he wouldn’t bite you, Lambert. And believe me, he has it in him.” He levelled a look of pride at Jaskier, making him feel like the most important person in the world. _

Jaskier woke up to a faraway noise. Lifting his head from his rolled-up doublet, he listened, but only a subtle rustle of leaves reached his ears. Geralt was still hunting, the place next to Jaskier devoid of his warmth. He lay his head back and looked into the star-sprinkled sky visible between the tree crowns.  _ Was it just a dream or a premonition? _ He hoped it was the latter. One glance at his breeches told him that his cock was desperately trying to burst through the seam. Hurriedly, he untied the string in front and fisted his cock. Biting his lower lip not to groan out loud, he stroked furiously, then spit on his hand and stroked harder, faster. 

“I'll be a good boy, Geralt,” he whispered as he arched his back, ready for orgasm to wash over him.

“Oh really?” A rumble from behind startled him, and he let go of his cock a second before he would come. 

Lost in his newfound fantasy, he hadn’t heard the witcher’s quiet steps approaching. Now, he was looking into a lust-filled expression on Geralt's face.

Eyes black as craters after an explosion stared back at him, and Jaskier knew he should be scared. Geralt had warned him about the possibility of this happening. Jaskier took in the wide, heaving chest, the armour soaked with blood, and the feral expression on Geralt’s face. Against all logic, Jaskier’s arousal spiked even more. The scrunch of Geralt’s nose and the animalistic sniff followed by a narrowing of those black depths, told Jaskier that Geralt could smell it. Jaskier swallowed audibly and whispered,

“Oh fuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is aroused by the look of black-eyed Geralt covered in blood. Geralt can smell that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: rough sex, blood as lube. Proceed with caution.

Jaskier scrambled to his feet, staggering back a few steps to catch his balance as his previously opened breeches slid to mid-thigh. Geralt’s black eyes followed his movements, but his covered-in-monster-blood body was eerily still. Jaskier’s entire being burned with lust at the sight, yet he managed to square his shoulders, and take two steps forward. The confusion on Geralt’s face was clear, even if he could clearly smell what Jaskier’s body wanted from him. 

To drive the point across, Jaskier untied his shirt and tossed it aside. He planned to take off his breeches fully as well, but he wasn’t quick enough. 

In a matter of a second Geralt was on him. 

With a thud, Jaskier’s back hit the forest floor, all the air leaving his lungs in a forced exhale at the impact. His gaze met eyes that were dark, scary, and alluring like a starless night. 

“Geralt, I know you’re in there,” Jaskier breathed, arching his body towards the beast looming above him. “I want this, I—”

The words died in his throat the moment he was flipped over like a rag doll. The soft grass under his torso was cushioning, yet Jaskier was too fixated on Geralt’s movements behind him to pay attention to simple comforts. He expected to have his breeches tugged off as they kept his legs closed, tying them at the ankles. Instead, he heard a rustle of hurried movements, and surmised that Geralt was focused on his own breeches first. He craned his neck to look back, but his resolve was lost the moment he felt Geralt’s hands on his naked buttocks. He lifted Jaskier’s hips just enough to let Jaskier’s hard cock swing. The rough manhandling only spiked Jaskier’s arousal, and he was about to remark on that when a strong grip held one of his arse cheeks to the side, rendering him speechless. 

Geralt’s fingers were slicker than they should have been without oil when they found his entrance. He gasped, gripping the grass next to his head, as two fingers unceremoniously slid into him. The lubricant had to be blood, and there was a lot of it. He hoped it wasn’t Geralt's, as the witcher barely had the sense of any damage to his own body while still under the influence of a potion; he’d told Jaskier as much. 

The worry abided when Geralt thrust his fingers inside Jaskier, making him lose all coherent thought. Geralt moved them in and out, twisting, then pushing inside until the knuckles of his unsheathed fingers hit Jaskier’s bum. The stretch felt so good, and Jaskier moaned into the grass, relaxing into the quick prep. 

Just a breath passed between Geralt’s fingers retreating and the thick head of his cock nudging Jaskier’s entrance. He tried to thrust back, but a strong forearm across his upper back pinned him to the ground. All he could do was release tiny whimpers of pleasure as Geralt slid inside, retreated, then seated himself fully. The incredible slickness resulted in a series of wet sounds that made Jaskier’s heart palpitate even faster.

A long, low growl echoed behind Jaskier, the sound permeating his body and sending shivers down his spine. Geralt covered him flush, his front to Jaskier’s back, and slid his arm between Jaskier and the ground to hold him tight. Releasing another rumble, Geralt bit into the crook of Jaskier’s neck and shoulder, hard enough to bruise but not enough to break the skin. Jaskier yelped, but bucked into his lover, letting him know how much he enjoyed being pinned down and restrained — a lot more than he’d ever thought he would. Ferocious, growling, and dominating Geralt was a thing of beauty, and Jaskier was ready to experience every second of it.

Geralt licked the spot soothingly with the flat of his tongue, then clamped his teeth on Jaskier again, holding him in place like an animal holding its prey. The arm that wasn’t wrapped around Jaskier’s chest reached for his cock. The calloused fingers of a man who wielded a sword for money wrapped around Jasker’s erection, the latter never having wilted between his failed attempt at self pleasure and Geralt’s appearance. Jaskier made a high needy sound, feeling as if Geralt was all around him, surrounding him, and invading him all at once. “Yes, Geralt!” he cried, already close to orgasm. 

Geralt sped up, pounding into Jaskier hard. The loud slapping noises their bodies made coupled with Jaskier’s loud moans were definitely sending the smaller animals in the forest fleeing. The hand on Jaskier’s cock pumped faster, making tears spring to his eyes from the onslaught of sensations. He was held in place, his legs secured tight at the ankles, and his body pleasured inside and out. Unable to move on his own, Jaskier was forced to take whatever Geralt gave him. The very thought of this made his body want it even more, and his mind drifted into a land of pleasure he could accept without thinking. The rush of being at Geralt’s mercy, knowing he would be unable to escape even if he tried, made him dizzy with lust. The trust he’d bestowed up on Geralt might reach levels of insanity, but Jaskier was certain that even as a seemingly mindless beast, Geralt wouldn’t hurt him. He drank the thrill of danger in bucketfuls, and this night was the next level of excitement. 

Geralt’s thrusts became more frantic and Jaskier could tell the signs of an incoming orgasm in his lover. When Geralt’s muscles tensed and he let out another lascivious growl, Jaskier felt his own orgasm start in his abdomen and spread all over his body. Pinpricks of pleasure scattered through him, consuming him, making him weak as he shook in Geralt’s hold. He was faintly aware of the long keening sound he let loose until there was no more air left in his lungs. Jaskier came onto the forest floor, his cock twitching in Geralt’s grasp, just as Geralt’s cock was twitching inside him.

Geralt collapsed on top of Jaskier, squishing him to the ground. For a few moments, the weight felt amazing; his inability to move felt freeing in its paradox. Cheek on the forest floor, Jaskier could smell the upcoming dawn and morning dew on the grass.

When taking a lungful of air became too difficult, Jaskier started to wiggle. With no small amount of struggle, he managed to throw the muscled beast off of his back. 

“Now I hope you’ve burned through any potion—” Jaskier’s words died in his throat when he looked at Geralt’s face.

His eyes were gold again, but the unhealthy pale glow remained on his face, and was visibly getting worse. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was full of panic as it took over his mind. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt breathed with a satiated smile. He lifted his hand to touch Jaskier's face, but it collapsed back to the ground before it made contact. Jaskier watched with horror as Geralt's eyes rolled back and he passed out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments make my day! :)  
> If you enjoyed the fic so far, consider subscribing to me.  
> If you'd like to get notified of my works for the Witcher fandom only, subscribe to ["Ballads of a Witcher and a Bard"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710100)  
> series where I'll be adding all my future Geraskier works.
> 
> This fic is a rough continuation of ["Defining the Shape of a Pear"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459572/chapters/56237293)  
> If you'd like to follow me on social media or chat:  
> [my Geraskier Twitter](https://twitter.com/CarmillaCarm6)  
> [my Geraskier Tumblr](https://carmillacarmine.tumblr.com/tagged/myfic)  
> [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/CarmillaCarmine)  
> 


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